


stupefaction (5+1)

by mvrcredi



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (i guess), (kinda), 5+1 Things, Getting Together, Humor, Irish Steve Rogers, M/M, Mild Language, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 03:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16109939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mvrcredi/pseuds/mvrcredi
Summary: Steve is full of surprises, apparently.Or five times Steve surprises Tony, and one time Tony surprises Steve (well, not really).





	stupefaction (5+1)

**1**

No one pays any mind to it at first. It kind of surprises Steve, but he was unbothered, truthfully.

However, after well past a month of living with the Avengers, Tony is the first (and only) to break as Steve is mid conversation with Natasha in the common room.

“Okay, I really can’t take this anymore,” Tony interrupts. “Cap, what’s with the accent?”

Steve pauses, confused and slightly taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“That!” the brunet practically shouts, pointing at Steve. “The... the Irish thing! I don’t get it.”

Natasha had dissipated into thin air by this point, leaving the two men to sort things out on their own. Steve couldn’t quite understand the big deal, he had thought everyone had both realized and accepted that his accent was not in fact native to Brooklyn.

Steve furrows his eyebrows. “There’s really nothing _to_ get, Tony.”

Tony mimics Steve’s facial expression, but with ten times more puzzlement. “How—what are you... so you’re telling me you’re not... _faking_ anything? Did I _miss_ something? Am I being pranked or—“

The blond suddenly lets out a laugh, face splitting into an amused grin. “No, you’re not bein’ pranked. I may be _from_ Brooklyn, but when you’re sickly in bed most the time, living with Irish parents in a neighbourhood packed with Irish immigrants, it’s really to be expected I’d have picked up an accent. It’s just what I was exposed to.”

Tony appears dumbfounded. “But... the reels, and the press conferences...”

“I’ll tell you that the one thing I learned from those damn war bond tours was how to fake one helluva’n American accent. Imagine if the country knew their supposed picture perfect All-American apple pie superhero didn’t sound so. _Psh_ , they’d have a riot, I’ll bet.”

“Well,” Tony hesitates a moment while attempting to process this new information. “That just won’t do,” he says simply, before turning on his heel and waltzing right out of the living space, leaving Steve to wonder what exactly he had meant by that.

 

* * *

 

**2**

 

“What smells so good in here? Bruce, I thought you didn’t get back for another two days!” Steve can hear Tony exclaim as he approaches the kitchen. With a quick glance over, Steve notices Tony’s got his nose buried in his tablet, which would explain his mistake.

“He doesn’t,” Steve responds. He’s almost finished with his fried rice, a recipe he had picked up from the lovely Indonesian lady who ran a restaurant Steve frequented. It had always been his favourite menu item.

Steve hears Tony’s footsteps halt. “You didn’t happen to light a candle or anything, did you?”

The blond chuckles. “No, Tony, it’s called cooking. I’m almost done if you want to try some in a minute.”

Tony doesn’t care to respond to the offer, instead jumping straight ahead to the question of, “Since when do you know how to cook?”

Steve shrugs. “Always have. Frankly, it’s just a lot better and more diverse with the variety of ingredients you can obtain nowadays. ‘S one thing I enjoy quite a bit about the future.”

“I’ll bet,” Tony snorts, “because I’ll tell you what; if it tastes as good as it smells, you might have to hang up your Captain America mantle so I can hire you as my personal chef.”

“Yes, well I can’t guarantee anything yet. This is only the first time I’ve tried out this recipe. If you want something I’m familiar with, maybe come around for Thanksgiving next time. _Then_ I can promise you things,” Steve says, though it’s pointless—firstly, Tony probably won’t care regardless, he’ll just criticize or praise based on whatever his taste buds are feeling. Secondly, he wasn’t going to show up for their team Thanksgiving dinner. Most likely. He wasn’t exactly the type to do so.

“Sure, whatever. Just hurry up, I’m starving. Almost three days with nothing but coffee and water is not ideal,” Tony moves to sit on a barstool on the opposite side of the kitchen island as Steve. “I’ll be here.”

It takes much self-control to not start up a lecture about the importance of proper nourishment for what would surely be the millionth time. Instead, Steve settles for silence as he turns off the stove top to let the rice cool. He grabs two plates, as well utensils from different drawers and cupboards in the meantime.

Tony sits uncharacteristically quiet until Steve doles a serving out to him. Tony fixes his slouch and positions himself as if he were a proper food critic. Steve rolls his eyes at the genius’ childishness.

Two bites in and Tony is already moaning in delight. Steve can’t tell if it’s because the fried rice _actually_ tastes good, or if it’s because Tony hadn’t eaten in nearly seventy-two hours. Whatever, he’d take what he could get.

“Oh yeah, Steve,” Tony says around a mouthful, “forget saving the world. You and Bruce could _rule_ the _culinary_ world!”

 

* * *

 

**3**

 

“What the fuck! Steve, Nat— _what the fuck?!”_ Tony cries, outraged. “No one wins that much at euchre. No one! Right, Clint? I’m not crazy, right?”

Clint gives Tony a weary look from across the table. “I mean...”

“No, no!” Tony continues to shout, “I just don’t _understand._ How have you guys been able to go alone for the majority of our games and still gain _five points almost every damn time?!_ I don’t get it! Unless you’ve been... oh. _You_ —“

To put it simply, there was a reason the Avengers never played card games like this (or in general) with Tony. He was very good at the various games they played, however, the same problem always occurred. Despite his profile, Tony was the only one that never cheated. So, if they had all played fair and square, Tony would not currently be trying to lunge at Nat from across the table.

Steve places a sturdy arm out in front of Tony to stop him from doing something incredibly stupid, that being trying to take on Natasha. Tony lets out a frustrated groan as he tries to fend off the barrier that is Steve’s arm, before eventually giving up and dropping back down into his chair.

“C’mon, Steve! You can’t possibly approve of all that cheating,” Tony pouts.

Steve looks sheepish. “Well, actually...”

After a moment or two, Tony’s eyes widen in realization. His gaze hardens into a glare, and suddenly Tony reverts into a petulant child. “You were in on it!”

“Actually, Tony,” Natasha cuts in coolly, “ _he_ was the one doing the cheating.”

” _What,”_ Tony says, exasperated. He turns his full attention to Steve. “ _What?!”_

“Look, Tony—“

“No, I’m not taking any of that. I’m done playing cards with you guys. I hope you’re all happy,” he sneers. They all know Tony won’t be upset for too long, because he really can’t hold a grudge against any of the Avengers, but it might take him a bit to come back around.

Clint, Steve and Natasha all sit and watch Tony march away after tossing his hand face up onto the table.

 

* * *

 

**4**

 

“Hey Steve, can I have a sip of your water? I’m thirsty,” Tony whines.

Without looking up from his sketchbook, or even thinking twice about it, Steve pushes his water bottle over to Tony, replying with a curt, “Sure.”

Since his attention had been diverted, he missed the way Tony’s face contorted into an expression similar to when one tasted something sour after he took a sip. “Um, Steve?”

“Yeah, Tony?” he hums.

“This, uh. This isn’t water.”

Steve freezes, the tip of his pencil coming to an abrupt stop. Right. He’d forgotten the bottle contained some of Nat’s vodka rather than water. _“Shit._ About that... _”_

“Mm hm,” Tony coughs accusingly, not unlike a parent confronting a teenager about poor behaviour and-or decisions. “I have questions.”

 

* * *

 

**5**

 

_“Fuck,_ Steve!”

_“Tony—“_

 “What in the _hell_ are you two—oh,” Clint stops dead in the common room. Neither Tony nor Steve pay him any mind. “Never mind. Carry on.”

He hastily makes his way out of the room.

“I cannot _believe—“_

“Tony, this is _Mario Kart._ This game is _every man for himself._ I did what I had to.”

“Okay, _sure,_ let’s say it is—but what I don’t get is how you’re so good at this game; a _video_ game, mind you. I thought you were an old man with a flip phone past 2012,” Tony complains.

Steve scoffs. “Tony, you literally forced a StarkPhone on me. Not to mention, I am _perfectly_ capable of learning new things, especially revolving around technology. Any other nonagenarian, maybe not, but _mind you,_ I am still physically twenty-odd years old. That includes my brain, _genius._ Maybe _you_ need to catch up.”

Tony’s face sets into a hard glare, pausing the game so he could face Steve with this expression. “That was cold, Steve. Real cold.”

“Yes, well,” Steve starts the game up again, tone oozing smugness as he lets loose another red shell behind him, directed at Tony, “I _did_ spend 70 years in ice.”

 

* * *

 

**+1**

 

Tony had been awfully fidgety around Steve for the past week, and it had been kind of throwing the latter off.

He had thought their differences had been put aside from years ago, if that’s what it was about. Even then, Steve can’t think of why their past conflicts would surface once more. And otherwise, he still can’t think of any recent detrimental arguments that might have caused this behaviour either.

So when the man decided to _finally_ talk to Steve, the super soldier couldn’t help but feel a little anxious. He really wasn’t up for backtracking their friendship.

“Uh, Steve,” Tony clears his throat. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Go for it,” Steve answers quickly, and perhaps it was just a tad too fast.

Tony takes a deep breath before starting up a speech, which would surely turn into something more akin to a ramble. “Before I start, I just wanted to say that it is absolutely alright if you don’t feel the same way because, I mean—I’m... _me,_ and you’re _you_ and deserve someone with _way_ less problems than I have, but that’s not the point—the point is that I want to, uh—“

“Tony?”

“Hm?” The aforementioned’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. He stretches his lips into a thin line.

Steve decides to take the leap. “Are you, per chance, asking me out?”

Tony tenses like a deer caught in headlights. “Um,” he squeaks. _“Maybe?”_

Steve takes a great sigh of relief. “Oh thank _God._ I thought you were like, incredibly mad at me or something. I don’t know how I didn’t figure it out earlier, though. Your pining wasn’t exactly subtle.”

“O-oh? I... I wasn’t _pining,_ I...” Tony splutters. “Wait, does that mean—“

“Sure, Tony. I’ll go out with you.”

Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen Tony smile so wide before.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, I just can't help but write 5+1 stories!! I love them so much, it's unreal.
> 
> Thank you for reading!! <3


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